


down in the dirt

by Anonymous



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Brief Feminization, Creampie, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Erection, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Violence, Non-consensual everything, Slut-Shaming, and begging him to forgive me OTL, blink-and-youll-miss-it voyeurism, gangrape, i cannot stress enough how noncon this is, in my mind i am wrapping langa in a soft blanket and giving him aftercare, langa/mob, non-consensual anal sex, reki is not present for any of this!, renga is only implied, this was written to induce a sense of panic and fear so please take care of yourself, written for sk8 kinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: written for the kinkmeme:Inspired by Langa getting surrounded by 5 mob skaters during qualifier in Episode 8. Maybe they ambush him somewhere in a secluded corner in S after the race while Langa is looking for Reki. Make Langa struggling til the end while calling for Reki (or his other friends) for help.
Relationships: Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki, Hasegawa Langa/Other(s)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 62
Collections: Anonymous, Anonymous Fics, anonymous





	down in the dirt

**Author's Note:**

> please please please heed the tags. if i've neglected to tag anything, please let me know and i will fix it. the general gist should be clear though: this is noncon from start to finish. an exploration of panic, fear, and trauma. please take care of yourself if you choose to read it. renga is only tagged because langa calls out to reki for help.
> 
> more details on the plot, to the extent there is one, if you prefer to know more about what you're getting into:
> 
> langa is attacked while leaving S alone after the tournament qualifiers, by the creepy gas mask gang who surrounded him during the race. they physically injure him, forcibly undress him, and several of them rape him. langa is (very unwillingly) aroused, but does not come and fights the whole time. no mind-break going on here, folks.

“Hey Rookie!”

Langa, one of the last to leave S for the night, had thought the stretch of dirt he was walking was deserted. But this voice, nasal and grating, was right in his ear—much too close. Langa whipped around, his custom-made board swinging with the momentum of his turn. Acting on pure instinct, he meant to slam the side of the board into the source of the creepy, too-close voice, teach them not to sneak up on him, not to get all up in his space, especially not tonight, with Reki gone and ADAM—

The edge of the board slammed into a black-gloved hand. There was no give in that hand. The force of the impact shuddered up Langa’s arms, stinging in his wrist and elbow. _Who the—? Is this Joe? Who else is that strong?_ Crystalline blue eyes wide, Langa followed the black-clad line of the gloved hand, arm, broad shoulder, and finally looked up into opaque glass goggles.

_What the hell?_

The stranger swung at Langa’s solar plexus, knocking every molecule of air out of his body. In the same instant, before Langa could fall to his knees from the impact, the sharp bite of a leather strap bit into his throat. For one horrifying instant, Langa couldn’t breathe. All of his weight was held by the choking, cutting noose at his throat. His vision flashed before him.

And then the leather loosened, just barely, just enough for him to gasp in a ragged lungful of air.

CRACK. A metal rod struck the back of his knees, sending him, finally, to the dirt ground on the dark, now-abandoned S track. Once again, his weight fell fully into the belt at his throat, cutting off his air for a terrifying moment before loosening ever-so-slightly.

Less than a minute had passed since the stranger had first shouted into his ear. 

Knees stinging and throat aflame, Langa looked up through tear-blurred eyes. Before him stood a tall, black-clad, broad-shouldered figure, wearing one of those stupid gas mask and goggle apparatuses. He was holding Langa’s board. 

Langa could draw in just enough air to spit at him, snarling, “Give me my board back, you freak.”

The belt around his throat tightened, and Langa became truly conscious, for the first time, of how bad the situation was. One strange figure before him, at least one behind him. And this asshole had his board. This asshole who was—laughing?

The man in front of Langa had doubled forward, leaning unsteadily on the board Reki had made for him as he shook with laughter.

“Oh shit—oh _shit_ , you’re too cute!” He finally got out between bouts of howling laughter. Langa’s face twisted with fury, and he was about to speak again, to tell this strange man to give him his _fucking_ board back when his head was yanked backwards by the roots of his hair. He cried out in pain instead. Opening his eyes against the stinging pain, he looked up into an identical gas mask.

“You are cute,” said the mask above him, “much cuter like this, huh? Don’t you think, oh mighty Snow-sama~?” The hand in Langa’s hair jerked his head further back as he sung Langa’s name, forcing Langa’s back to arch painfully. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he saw the scene behind him.

One man was in front of Langa, leaning on the board Reki had so carefully made as if it belonged to him. And now Langa could see one man directly behind him, and feel the sting of the belt he had wrapped firmly around Lenga’s throat. Another man, next to him, with a fistful of Langa’s forget-me-not blue hair tight in his black-gloved fist. Behind them, two others, one of whom tapped against his open, gloved palm the telescoping rod they had swung at Langa with in the beef. They all wore head-to-toe black, complete with a hood, gas mask, and goggles.

Finally, it clicked. These were the hooded, gas-masked weirdos he and Joe had so thoroughly beaten that very night.

“You!” Langa managed to spit out between gritted teeth, head still tilted backwards at a painful angle. “You’re the ones I beat! What is this? Some kind of hazing ritual? I already beat you once and I’ll beat you again next time too—” He cut off in a harsh gurgle as the man behind him yanked hard on the ends of the belt. The burn in his lungs and throat overrode the pain in his scalp, knees, and ribs as, once again, Langa fought to breathe. Langa’s wide eyes stared unseeingly at the night sky above him, framed by the cliffs of the S track. 

“Don’t be such a little smartass, it’s not good for your health,” came a low, deep rumble from behind him. It was the one holding the belt. The belt loosened as the hand in Langa’s hair let go, and pushed him forwards instead. 

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Langa fell forward, barely catching himself from faceplanting in the dirt. As he panted, struggling to push himself upright, he heard the crunch of footsteps. He looked up to see a black boot in between the splay of his hands. He felt revulsion as the toe of the boot caught the underside of his chin, tilting his head back to look up the long line of a black denim-clad leg, into those glass goggles looming above him. The man held Langa’s board loosely, casually, is if it were his own.

“Here’s the thing, Snow,” his nasally voice dripped with condescension. “Me and my buddies here have been coming to S for four years. _Four years_!”

Finally getting his breath under control, Langa opened his mouth to say something, anything, to shut this man up. The belt yanked him backwards before he could, leaving him gasping once again. He was fully on his hands and knees now, eyes even with the knees of the man before him. 

The low voice behind him spoke again, “Shut the fuck up, kid.”

The man in front of Langa howled with laughter at this, once again bracing his weight on Lenga’s board. It seemed to Langa that laughed for a long time, for the eternity it took him to even out his breathing again. _What do I do_? He wondered as the man clutched as his sides and laughed and laughed. His mind was buzzing, empty of everything but panic and fury. One man in front of him, armed with Langa’s own board. Four behind him. A belt around his throat. _What the fuck do I do_? He needed to calm down. He breathed in slowly, centered himself, tried to stave off panic.

“Hoooo boy!” Finally, the man in front of him was getting himself under control. “It’s just, it’s a treat to see you like this, you know? You waltz in here, barely knowing a goddamn thing, and even ADAM’s ready to suck your dick. Unbelievable! Four fucking years we’ve been skating S. Four years! What is that, half your life? And look at where we are! Do you even know who we are? Tell me Snow-sama, what’s our name?”

Langa was still focusing on breathing a steady but shallow in-and-out. It took him a beat of silence to realize the man had been speaking to him. “What?”

Once again, a hand corded through his hair, whipping Langa painfully off of his hands, so all his weight was on his bruised knees again, tilting his head back and to the side. His eyes stung with the pain of it. He again faced the man who’d pulled his hair before, he was sure, this time staring blurrily into red glass lenses just inches from his face. 

“Our leader asked you a goddamn question kid. Answer him!” With that, the man flung him forwards again, back onto stinging palms.

“Yeah,” came that nasally voice, “answer my question, kid. What is our name?” 

Langa had no idea who these people were. He’d never seen them or heard of them before tonight, and even tonight, hadn’t given them another thought after leaving them in his dust. He blinked slowly at the man in front of him, face relaxed but eyes glinting dangerously in the dim glow of the S track. His voice was steady, low, and calm. “Gee, I don’t know. The Dickless Jerk-offs, maybe?”

For a moment, all Langa could hear was the faint sound of a light breeze whistling through the canyon.

Then the masked man chuckled lightly. “Like I said, you’re real cute. Well. I can tell you this much, we’re not the Dickless Jerk-offs.” 

Langa’s mind felt frozen as his eyes watched, unblinking, as those black gloves undid the man’s belt buckle, as he heard the tzzzzzpt of a zipper being pulled down, as he made out the briefest flash of white fabric before the man pulled out his flaccid penis. Even soft, it looked big. It dangled above Langa from his position on his hands and knees in the dirt. The belt tightened fractionally, and Langa couldn’t tell if he couldn’t breathe because of that, or because his body felt as if it were shutting down from shock. 

Like a bystander to a horrible accident, Langa stared, transfixed, at the soft cock above him. It was the only splash of color—a muted, tannish-pink—against the man’s all-black ensemble. As if from very far away, he heard that nasally voice call out to one of his buddies, telling him to grab the kid, hold him down, get those clothes off him. It was all just noise to Langa. None of it was processing.

Then, a pair of black-gloved hands reached around his waist, efficiently popping the button on his jeans and getting his fly down. Another pair of hands yanked down at his waistband, and he felt cool night air around his thighs and ass for the briefest moment, before it was replaced by heat and rough fabric rubbing directly against his bare skin.

Lenga snapped out of it, launching back up onto his knees and turning in horror to see all four men crowded behind him, some crouched at his eye level, and others standing. The one holding the belt now loose around his neck pressed in along Langa’s back, and Langa could smell him—sweat and some cheap, sharp aftershave. “What are you doing?” He could feel panic rising again, could hear it in his voice. “My pants—what are you doing? Get off of me!”

One of the men behind him let out a gravelly chuckleand gripped a hand into his hair. He leaned down, into Langa’s space and, when Langa gasped at the pain of having his hair pulled yet again, shoved a foul-tasting tongue into Langa’s mouth. Langa bit down, hard.

The man cried out. Behind him, the man with the belt pulled, hard, forcing Langa’s body back into him, cutting off all air. Langa gasped for air, struggling for even the most paltry breath, and felt leather in his mouth. Two fingers jammed into his throat, causing him to gag on the little bit of air he could suck in. He could hear laughter, and shouts, but couldn’t make out words as he fought to breathe. And then, the fingers were gone and the belt loosened. Langa’s body would have fallen to the ground, except for the belt holding him upright.

His head lolled forward, eyes blinking against the spots dancing in his vision. He could feel his pants and underwear pooled around his knees, and knew that the rest of him was exposed.

Two gas-masked figures stood before him, identical but for the now-fattening cock that one of them was pumping almost absent-mindedly. It was a deepening red, and glistened at the tip. He’d never seen a dick other than his own, and this was—it was big. It was very, very close to the tip of his nose. 

“Hey kid,” came that goddamn nasally voice again, along with a quick little slap at his cheek. “I think we can all agree I’m not dickless, don’t you?” Came the man’s voice from above. “Suck it.”

Langa didn’t stop to think before firmly saying, “No. Are you crazy? No.” 

“Alright then, I guess we have to prove that none of us is dickless. Boys? Have at him.”

The belt fell from Langa’s throat, and for a moment he felt blissfully free as he gasped in his first deep breath in what felt like an age. But before he could do more than marvel at the feeling of so much oxygen in his lungs, a thick arm fell like a gurney strap across his chest, pressing him tightly into the man behind him. He could feel the press of the gas mask, cold and sharp, against his cheek. He reached up, digging his nails hard into the meaty forearm holding him down, and felt vindication as the man let out a pained grunt. 

His vindication was short-lived though, because in the next moment, a finger wrapped in dry leather shoved searingly into him, past the tightly clenched muscles of his asshole. It burned, and the pain stole the breath from Langa once again.

“Fuck,” came a low voice from right next to his ear, “this is gonna take forever. One of you got lube?”

For some reason, that was the final straw for Langa’s remaining composure. He began jerking his body, wildly kicking out behind him at the man with a dry finger shoved up Langa’s ass, tossing his head to the side to bash into the gas mask in between trying to bite down at the man’s arm. Every muscle in his body strained against the body behind him. He heard himself shouting, hurling _fuck you_ s and wordless sounds of rage. He heard grunts of pain from the man holding him, and shouts he couldn’t decipher from the others. 

He managed to break free of the arm holding him upright and kicked forward. He looked to the side, saw past a pair of boots— _my board_! If he could just get to it, get on it, he could be gone faster than they could manage. He’d be free. He half-stumbled, half-crawled towards the board. His pants were pulling tight against his knees, slowing him down. But he was almost there, just a bit further—

The metal rod impacted brutally against his spine, sending Langa face-first into the dirt. In an instant, there were hands at his wrists and ankles, pressing them into the ground. He was shouting, screaming at them to get off of hum, screaming for help, from anyone, from Joe, or Cherry, or, oh _god_ , from Reki. _Reki, Reki, Reki, help me_ —

The hands on his ankles yanked his legs apart, and he heard the unmistakable sound of someone about to spit before there was a splat, and wet, cold liquid dripped down his crack and over his hole. Again. Spit landed on his inner thigh as he thrashed. Again, right against his hole. He heard raucous laughter as he screamed—“Reki! Reki!!”

Something shoved up into him, searing through the core of his body. It was searingly painful, but wet this time, and some distant part of Langa’s brain thought, _oh, someone had lube_ , before another finger shoved into him, pumping viciously, unstoppably in and out. His thighs strained with the effort of trying to shut them against the intrusion. Beneath him, his soft penis was smashed painfully against the dirt.

Through his own screams, Langa heard that awful, nasally voice ask casually, “I’d call that good enough for our cute little ice princess, wouldn’t you?” He was somewhere high above Langa. His question was met with whoops and hollers of agreement from the men holding down Langa’s limbs. Arms shoved in under his waist and hauled him upwards, onto his hands and knees. Langa tried to use the leverage of this new position to shove himself forward, away from the fingers curling cruelly inside of him, but the man behind him swung his knees out, spreading Langa’s thighs painfully wide. His balance was off; he had no leverage. He howled a furious “ _No_!” as he tried to rip his wrists out of the hands that still held them like manacles. They held firm.

Langa felt a cool breeze against dampness on his face and realized he was crying. 

He heard another zipper being drawn down, felt the fingers pull out of him. The man behind him gave Langa’s ass a firm _pat-pat_ , as if calming a fucking animal.

Langa screamed. 

He almost screamed loud enough that he didn’t hear the man behind him groan deeply as he shoved into Langa in one quick, punishing thrust. Almost. 

It burned. Langa’s breath caught in his throat, and he let out a quiet, shocked wheeze of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, felt tears tracking down his face. He pitched forward, trying to get away, but those arms held his waist in place as his torso pitched forward and down.

“Oh, fuck yeah—ah, ah—look at that! Snow’s a—oh shit, ah—a natural!” A voice behind him said, in between grunts of pleasure as he thrust into Langa.

“Face down, ass up, looks like he’s a real slut!” came a voice from somewhere to Langa’s right.

Langa turned in the direction of the voice, struggling and failing to get his arms back up under him as the hands grasping his wrists yanked them out. His eyes rolled wildly before landing on the gas mask nearest him. He bared his teeth, snarled: “Shut up! Shut up! What do—AH!” Langa cut off on a particularly brutal thrust. It hurt, of course it hurt, but it also sent a zing of pleasure through his pelvic bone and up his spine. _No no no, no way. No fucking way_ , he thought, panicked. Langa had experimented before, had played with his prostate in the privacy of his bedroom. He knew what that feeling was. But there was no way. Not here, not now. _Not with these perverts, these absolute monsters, these_ —

Langa’s train of though was cut off by a drawn-out groan behind him, as the man pulled Langa’s hips back and ground deep within him. Langa could feel the heat of him, and feel the pulse, pulse, and the wetness as he came, raw, inside of Langa. Again, Langa screamed as he tried to jerk his body forward and away. 

“No! No!” His voice sounded high and panicking. He’d never heard himself sound like this. “Get out! You can’t come in me! Get out! _Help me! Reki_!”

The man sagged against his back, a dead weight flattening Langa against the ground once more. Langa squirmed and thrashed, his screams turning into sobs as he felt warm liquid dribble out of him and down to his balls.

“Don’t be rude,” came the low voice of the man who had held the belt tight around Langa’s throat. “Keep it moving.” He shoved at the limp body on Langa with the tip of his boot, and was met with an irritated grunt.

“Yeah, yeah, have at him.”

The weight lifted off of Langa, who immediately took the chance to start thrashing against his captors, straining for freedom. Every muscle in his body, every hair on his head screamed in pain and humiliation, but he had to try. He couldn’t just lay there. Still, he was powerless as strong arms once again yanked his hips up and back, and another cock slid—more easily this time—past his rim. The man let out a deep, soft hum of appreciation as he teased his cockhead in and out the Langa’s rim. Langa could hear the wet, squelching, popping sound it made for a moment before he started shouting again, voice hoarse but unceasing. Shouting for the man to get off him, get out of him, for someone to help him.

The man hushed Langa reassuringly, and said in his low drawl, “Don’t worry kid, I’ll make you feel real good. Look at you. All open and loose, and full of come already. It’ll be better this time, shhhhh.” He slid slowly, inexorably in. 

And in. And in. He was big. So much bigger than the first man that Langa couldn’t speak at all, but could only let out a low, drawn-our groan as there seemed to be more and more of the man’s cock, reaching deeper and deeper into him. Langa felt him press firmly against his prostate once fully sheathed, and he rocked lightly back and forth. There was a horrible burn, broken by shocks of pleasure. That was worse than the burn, as it made shame curl cold and heavy and dreadful in his throat. He couldn’t breathe, and thought that he’d take the belt back over this. Then, the man pulled almost fully out before slamming back in one brutal motion that ripped an inhuman howl from Langa’s throat. He did it again and again, hitting Langa’s prostate again and again. 

With horror, Langa realized that he was getting hard. 

He threw himself once more into fighting to get away, even as every muscle in his body screamed for mercy. He managed to get one hand turned over, and dug his nails as hard as he could into the small stretch of skin between his captor’s glove and shirt. The man screamed as he fell back, letting go of Langa’s wrist. Langa scrabbled at the ground with his free hand, trying to find anything to grab onto, to pull himself away, or anything he could use to bludgeon the man punching into him, stretching him and molding him with every thrust.

A hand yanked back on Langa’s hair, pulling him up fully onto all fours and tilting his head back. Tears streamed down Langa’s face as he shouted in frustration. Through teary eyes, he saw a man standing before him, cock jutting proudly out. The man’s quiet chuckle and nasally voice confirmed that he was the man who had first stolen Langa’s board. 

“Now, now, Snow, let’s not be too feisty. We wouldn’t want to have to hurt you…. Irreparably. You get what I mean, right? This is all just a little fun. At the end of the night, you get to go home.” 

Langa was having a hard time focusing on his words between the searing pain of having his hair pulled, and the muddled, horrible, stretching, burning pleasure of that enormous cock still punching steadily into him. He could feel come dripping down his balls and thighs. The man was still talking.

“We’ll even give you your stupid board back. All we want is to put you in your place, ice princess. You’re just a rookie, a nobody. Remember that next time, okay? And just go along with all this. It’s _much_ easier that way. So I’m gonna tell you again,” the black glove at the base of his cock shifted, and he slapped his cock lightly against Langa’s cheek. Langa flinched away, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to breathe in the smell of him. He tried and failed to hold in a whimper as the cock inside of him once again rocked against his prostate. 

“Suck it.”

“No.”

The hand in Langa’s hair suddenly let go, and Langa’s head fell forward, into the black-covered stomach of the man in front of him. The hand holding his left wrist let go. Before Langa could process any of this, the man against his back pressed against along the line of his body and ripped Langa’s arms out from under him, sending Langa careening towards the ground. He felt a cock brush past his cheek as he was caught, as his arms were yanked back, drawing his spine into a painful arch. He let a scream escape him as the man behind him bottomed out. His cock felt impossibly deeper with the new angle. Langa’s mouth hung open, punched-out gasps escaping him as the man pulled him back to meet his thrusts. He could feel his cock throb as it swung, heavy and full, in time with their bodies. 

Langa felt a hand grip the back of his head, and fingers once again jam into his mouth. The man with the nasally voice pressed down against his tongue, holding it in place. 

“I’m not gonna ask again, Snow. You’re going to suck my dick. If you bite, I’ll have one of my buddies here break your board and then break your legs. Okay? Okay.”

He had his dick in Langa’s mouth almost before he finished speaking. Langa glared viciously up at him through teary eyes. He didn’t bite. 

The powerful thrusts of the man behind him and inside him pushed him further down the cock on his mouth, making him gag and making tears fall more freely down his face. He’d had someone come in him. From the way the man behind him was beginning to speed up, he would come soon too. _What does it matter? What difference does it make_? He closed his eyes and struggled to breathe as he was shoved forward, further onto the man’s cock. He felt hair tickle his nose as his throat spasmed wildly around the intrusion. He could smell sweat and a chemical smell. Langa felt his own cock throb, probably dripping pre-come, as the man behind him hit his prostate yet again. _Stupid, stupid, it’s just a board_. But it was the board Reki had made. Reki, who wasn’t speaking to Langa and might never speak to him again. This could be the last board Reki ever made for him, the last vestige of their friendship. 

Reki. Reki, who was fiery and passionate, and who would never give up. Reki, who was his best friend and more. 

Langa bit down.

The man above him screamed, slapping a stinging, leather-clad hand across Langa’s cheek as he pulled free of his mouth. Langa’s ears rang, but he could hear the man screaming. Langa spat, trying to get the taste of him out of his mouth. He felt himself be pulled back, hard, and then the dick inside of him was pulsing, coming, emptying into him yet again. 

The nasal-voiced man, cock red, swollen, and swinging freely from the opening in his pants, pulled the other man off of Langa. Langa fell forward, arms to slow to catch him. The world swam around him as he was flipped over onto his back. For the first time, he caught a glimpse of his own cock, full and glistening under the dim S lights overhead. He watched in horror as a drop of pre-come fell onto his stomach.

There was a harsh laugh, and then from either side of Lenga, hands grabbed his knees pulling them up and out, to either side of his chest. The stretch burned, and he cried out in a hoarse voice, bringing his arms up to push back against the men holding him open to the night air

“Shut the fuck up, Snow,” came that hateful voice. He knelt between Langa’s thighs, held open by men on either side of him. Langa tossed his head, struggling to break free. He couldn’t move an inch. Worse, he saw that all of the men surrounding him now had their dicks out. Those not holding him down were pumping them, all aimed in his direction.

“I swear, you’re lucky you’re pretty,” said the man between his thighs, as he patted Langa’s bare thigh. Gloves still on, he pushed the leaking come back into Langa, seemingly transfixed as it oozed out again. “We should make this a habit, get you nice and trained.” He stroked himself slowly as he spoke. “If we can’t win a beef, maybe we’ll fuck you before one of your beefs instead, let you skate it with a plug in, pumped full of our come. We’ll take turns fucking you until you’re so full of it that you feel it sloshing in you with every step, with every turn, with every ollie. That’d be even better than winning ourselves. Let’s let tonight be the start of a beautiful tradition, Snow.”

With that, he pushed in. 

He set a quick and brutal pace. Even as Langa thrashed and cried out, screaming for Reki or anyone to help him, he could feel the pain and the occasional flashes of pleasure from the man moving inside him. He could hear moans from all around him. As he struggled to pull free, he saw a black glove flying over a cock that was nearly purple with the need to come. He heard a loud groan as white liquid shot from the tip, arcing through the air before it landed with a splat across Langa’s chest. Langa struggled still as one after another, they came on him, streaks of white landing across his thighs, face, and in his hair. Finally, the nasal-voiced man let out a shout of his own, and Langa felt one final pulse and jolt of heat within him.

Langa’s legs fell with a soft thud as the men holding them up let go. No one was restraining him, but all the strength in his body had finally left him. He gazed dazedly at the sky. The man pulled out. Langa felt the immediate gush of come out of his swollen hole, and shuddered as the man swiped a thumb over the abused opening. 

“Oh look, you’re still hard.” Langa’s head shot up, eyes open in wide horror as he saw that it was true, saw that the man was reaching his gloved hand towards Langa’s leaking cock. “I’m so nice, see, I’ll help you out even though you tried to take a chunk out of me—”

Langa slammed his thighs shut with every bit of power derived from a lifetime of snowboarding. His throat ached as he ground out one final “ _No_.”

The man scoffed, patted Langa’s dripping hole, once, twice, and then stood up with a groan, brushing off his knees. “Your loss, kid,” he said as he tucked himself into his pants. “Let’s go boys, there’s always next week for round two!”

And then, moments later, they were gone. 

Langa was alone, suddenly freezing on the uneven, soiled ground of the S track. It took every ounce of his strength to roll over on to his side. Once there, he found that he didn’t have the energy to push himself into a sitting position. He felt a sob building up in his chest and throat, a large, physical presence within him. It ripped through him, burning at his chest and throat as he finally let himself fall, shudderingly, apart.

Bright lights rounded the corner, blinding him after so long in the dim S lighting, and making it difficult to place the source—headlights. A sleek black car pulled up, stopping in front of Langa’s curled, naked form. Langa could barely process this, as gasping, full-body cries wracked his body. The car door opened, and, through his tears and the spots in his vision, Langa saw the long, lean, black leg of a suit out of the car.

“Hasegawa-san,” came a quiet, smooth voice. “Ainosuke-sama saw a… disturbance on his security feed.” Langa’s thoughts swirled, unable to focus. Who was this? Who was Ainosuke-sama? “I thought it best that I get you home.” Langa felt warm fabric settle over his sticky skin, and shuddered. The suit knelt down beside him, pressed the back of his hand to Langa’s forehead. Langa saw dark hair, fair skin, and a mole. _He looks sad_ , Langa thought from somewhere deep within his mind, before finally losing consciousness. 


End file.
